


green light

by roseweasley



Series: melodrama [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Modern Westeros, sansa stark was a minor when she was with petyr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 09:19:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11688663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseweasley/pseuds/roseweasley
Summary: Sansa Stark is going to university down South. Jon Snow has feelings.





	green light

**Author's Note:**

> You asked, you received. Sansa is at her prime here, I think. This series will turn into snapshots of Jon & Sansa over time. Sansa is still HBIC. Alternatively titled: I Am Bad At Writing Smut. 
> 
> Feel free to reach out on tumblr @weasleyrose!

Sansa Stark was a senior. Her high school years were marked with parties and boys whose names she can’t be bothered to remember. There are moments she looks back on fondly, but most of them are regretfully dull. Winterfell offers little in the way of entertainment—bars and clubs are present, of course, but nothing like King’s Landing has to offer.

 

When she receives an offer to attend King’s Landing University she accepts it with open arms. Her parents are devastated, of course. Robb has already gone down South and found himself a nice girlfriend he’s loath to leave. Their golden children will be gone without a trace.

 

It’s not their reaction she waits on. No, it’s another’s reaction entirely.

 

The bar is dark when Sansa enters it. It’s called The Wall, an homage to another time. It’s not the type of place that she would generally frequent—too dirty, too few cute boys, not a large enough cocktail menu. None of this matters, because behind the counter stands Jon Snow, broody as ever.

 

A smirk winds across her face. She’s been looking forward to this moment for ages, lips tingling with kisses long forgotten. It’s been months since she’s had a proper conversation with him, but she hasn’t forgotten. Oh no, she’s not forgotten.

 

They had their first moment long ago. It feels like eons, but it’s only been a handful of years. Jon graduated and ended up working at a bar to pay his way through law school. It’s exactly what she would expect from him, and she likes that he’s predictable.

 

When he sees her it’s all worth it. It had been months since Robb’s last visit, the reason they were last together—long enough for her to forget the shape of Jon’s lips. That much she’s grateful for because she gets to discover it all over again. All roads have led them to each other, time and time again. It started with one moment and led into a series of moments strung together over time. Each time they promise it’ll be the last, lips desperate and hands grabbing. He fuels a fire in her she can’t seem to mimic with anyone else.

 

Maybe another girl would want to tie him down before he found someone more deserving. Another girl might profess their love. It didn’t work like that between them.

 

She’s never visited him at work. In fact, they have never planned their encounters. It always happens spontaneously, like the moment in the locker room.

 

His eyes widen ever so slightly, then relax into the broody look he wore when she first came in. He knows she’s not old enough to be there, but doesn’t question it. “What are you doing here?”

 

Sansa slides onto a bar stool with all of the grace she could manage wearing a mini skirt and six-inch heels. “Ordering a drink.”

 

“Can I see your ID?” He asks, voice monotone. It’s a game. Everything’s a game with him.

 

 She smirks and slides him her fake ID. “Of course.”

 

“Alayne Stone?” Jon raises an eyebrow. “Interesting. What can I get you, _Alayne_?”

 

“Surprise me.” His eyes darken at that, and she relishes in the moment. She loves seeing him like that, lips parted and eyes unfocused. It takes her back to their moments, tangled together between the sheets.

 

He dumps a few different mixers into a shaker and finishes with a drink that tastes fruity enough to disguise the alcohol. She takes a sip and smacks her lips.

 

“What are you doing here?” Jon blurts, face looking so delightfully unsure of himself she could kiss him then and there.

 

“I’m going to King’s Landing University in the fall.” His reaction is exactly what she had hoped for: a mixture of betrayal and aggression. That was when Jon was at his best—when he was angry.

 

“Why should I care?” Jon’s voice betrayed him.

 

“You know why.” Sansa downed the rest of her drink and stood. “Your place? When are you off?”

 

Jon looked conflicted, chewing on his lip before answering. “Now.”

 

That earned him a smirk. “Perfect. I’ll meet you outside.”

 

* * *

 

Sansa Stark would be the death of him.

 

Jon knew it from the moment she had slapped Joffrey Baratheon across the face, defending one of his best friends. His feelings hadn’t dulled over the years, as much as he had wanted them too. _Maybe I don’t want nice!_ Replayed through his head every time he went down on her. Each thrust had him thinking back to that moment of pure bliss when Sansa Stark had kissed him like it was going out of style.

 

Yet here they were, two years later, with nothing to show for it. They had the best sex Jon had ever had, yet she left every time without a backwards glance. He couldn’t help feeling like a cad each time he rolled off of her. It was what she wanted, he knew, but they never discussed it. Their mouths were always busy.

 

He texted Sam as soon as Sansa was outside. _911\. Need you to come cover the rest of my shift._ He and Sam shared the apartment above the building, thankfully, so he didn’t have to wait long. “You’ll owe me one.” Sam had said in the most serious voice he could manage.

 

Jon found Sansa outside, a cigarette hanging from her cherry red lips. It was the most intoxicating thing he had ever seen in his life. She was wearing the same brand of baby pink she always did, but somehow she made it look _adult._ Refined. “I didn’t know you smoked.” 

 

“Bad habit.” Sansa replied, grinding the butt under her heel. _Bad habit._ What they _did_ was a bad habit.

 

Nevertheless, he pulled out his keys and opened the door to the staircase. They had fallen into this pattern before—the same song and dance. Her hips swayed as she walked and he tried his hardest not to drool while he watched her.

 

They reached the top in record time. Jon let Sansa in first, watching as she removed her heels one by one. Then came the skirt, that delicious skirt—with _no_ panties underneath. He growled possessively, pulling her towards him so he could kiss her neck. He wasted no time pushing her hair out of the way so he could plant kisses behind her ear and down her neck.

 

She moaned with pleasure, wrapping a hand around his neck to keep him close. There were still too many layers between them—Jon maneuvered himself out of his boots and trousers hurriedly. He broke off his ministrations so he could pull Sansa’s top off, hissing when he saw her sheer lace bralette. It awakened something primal in him, he needed to fuck her _now._

 

He turned her around and picked her up so they could make it the rest of the way to the bedroom as quickly as possible. Once there, Sansa sprawled out on the bed, looking like a feline waiting for her prey. He wouldn’t deny her—not now not _ever—_ he made quick work of the rest of his clothes.

 

They were always ready for each other. Their copulations were heated and in the moment—but he found himself hard and her wet and wanting. Still, he wanted to make her lose control at least once before they got to the finale.

 

So Jon Snow spread her legs apart and kissed up her thighs, tongue trailing after teeth. It wasn’t long before he had her begging—but he paused.

 

* * *

 

“Sansa.” Jon’s eyes were pleading and Sansa knew what he wanted. She wouldn’t, though. She wouldn’t give into the game.

 

“Make me come, Jon.” And he did, tongue flicking at her clit until she was shaking— _begging—_ for release. Only then did he slide into her with a grunt. His hips bucked into hers furiously—this was the kind of fucking she liked. Merciless. Raw. _Hungry._

 

Their eyes met and she could tell he was close. She rubbed her clit furiously until she felt herself dipping closer and closer to the edge—he came with a shudder and planted a messy kiss on her forehead.

 

It was _such_ a Jon Snow thing to do. It was a sweet gesture. Sansa had given up sweet ages ago.

 

Though she got what she wanted, this time she wanted more. The game was too precious—she couldn’t lose, she _wouldn’t_ lose.

 

The object was to not fall in love.

 

Love was something Sansa had grown up hearing about but never experienced. Sure, she’d loved fairytales growing up—more than Arya had. That was until she realized that life was unforgiving. Not everything had a happy ending.

 

Bitterness served her. Her own personal brand of nihilism. Jon was the opposite—he was soft and sweet and good. Love hadn’t abandoned him, not yet. It hadn’t _really_ abandoned Sansa either—it had just never come.

 

That was, until she had felt stirrings of it when she kissed him.

 

It wasn’t fair. He had a hold on her that she hadn’t ever asked for or wanted. Of all the men she had been with—Joff, Harry, Petyr, even Ramsay—none of them had made her feel how Jon did. Even when they were fucking, Jon made her feel special. Dreamlike.

 

The only way to not let it consume her was to consume him. That was part of the game, too. Consume Jon Snow until she had her fill, until she was able to shake whatever feeling bloomed in her chest when she saw him.

 

She could not love him, not truly. Not in the way that Jon deserved to be loved. How could a cynic love someone with such passion? One look at Jon Snow could tell you how special he was. Everyone saw it—her whole family doted on him.

 

The only person she knew who didn’t like Jon was Joff, and he didn’t like anyone.

 

Petyr had warned her of the dangers of love. How he had known about Jon had been beyond her—Petyr was too perceptive for his own good. As a family friend, he was invited to all of the same parties Jon was. That was when he had pulled Sansa aside and kissed her.

 

It was sloppy. Everything about Petyr was just a _little_ bit messy. He had been one of her mum’s best friends growing up, and apparently still had a thing for redheads. She had realized—only after he had pressed her against a wall, tongue on her breast—that he was probably _right_ about Jon.

 

That bothered her. How could people know about her feelings that she wasn’t even sure of herself?

 

She could feel Jon’s eyes on her. It was one of the things she liked best about him—he was incredibly attentive. A good quality in a man. “What are you thinking about?” He murmured.

 

“Nothing.” It was mostly true—what she had been thinking about was nothing of consequence. It didn’t matter. She would be in King’s Landing soon enough.

 

“Why are you going?” He asked.

 

“There’s more to do down South.”

 

“Don’t you know that Starks don’t do well in the South?” Sansa turned to him then, brushing his curls out of his face. It was the most tender gesture she could manage.

 

“I’m not yours to worry about, Jon.” She knew it would sting. It didn’t matter—she had to keep him at a distance. She never wanted nice, she had told him so the first time they had kissed. Nice didn’t get you anywhere in life. Nice got your heart broken.

 

So she would break his a little to save her own, and maybe she would be able to forget the way his lips tasted and the look on his face when he came.

 

Or maybe she wouldn’t.   

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! xx Ash


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